


Slowly in Silent Syllables

by toomuchplor



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-23
Updated: 2007-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:18:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchplor/pseuds/toomuchplor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>John has another five minutes to drowse after Rodney slams down on the snooze button.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Slowly in Silent Syllables

**Author's Note:**

> Snow. That's really all there is to say.

Rodney has an alarm that crescendos them into consciousness, this small steady beep that carries all the data John will need for the next twenty to thirty minutes: it is six o'clock; he is in Rodney's bed; he has another five minutes to drowse after Rodney slams down on the snooze button.

Today Rodney's flailing ends not with the pop of the snooze button, but with the quiet snick of the alarm's off switch.

"Hey," says John into his pillow. "Don't, we'll sleep in."

"Look," says Rodney, the clarity of his voice telling John that Rodney's landed on his back as he flopped down on the mattress.

John rolls over and peels his eyes open. He stares at the ceiling, then at the walls. The room looks like it always does: grey-white paint in the pre-dawn dark. "What am I looking at?" John asks, already grumpy about the lost five minutes.

"Look at the light," Rodney says, and his tone isn't at all groggy or misty. He sounds sweet and alert and a little excited.

John squints at the little pool of moonlight on the wall. "Hey," he says, because now he sees: it's brighter than it should be. He goes to turn, wanting to see out the window, but Rodney stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

"It's the first snow," says Rodney. "You can always tell, just from the light. It's -- it shimmers. You can always see it." His hand drops now, and John gets to twist his torso towards the window. Rodney's right: the balcony outside, and the dim outline of the pier beyond, are draped with a thin layer of drifting white. John shivers instinctively and burrows deeper under the covers, pressing his legs up against Rodney's.

"Canadian," John smirks, not without affection, and chucks Rodney's chin.

"Snow pants," says Rodney, his mouth curving on one side, the side John can reach to kiss. "Tobogganing. Cocoa in styrofoam cups, and, oh. Maple syrup candies in the snow."

"The first time you go outside at night," offers John, "and it's just falling all around you, and it's so quiet and still."

"The furnace, that hum it makes when it starts up. And sharpening your hockey skates," answers Rodney.

"Christmas," returns John, and they both smile. It's April back on Earth but here on New Lantea it's breathless hushed November, and everything is new and chilled and soft.

"Don't fall asleep," warns Rodney, not helping matters with his big fingers carding hypnotically through John's hair. "Staff meeting is at seven."

"Mmm," says John, mostly gone already. "Snow day."

When he wakes again, it's full sparkling day and he's alone in Rodney's bed. There's a tray of breakfast steaming gently on the bedside table and a note that reads, "Carter took your advice. Enjoy your snow day. - R"


End file.
